


Moony-magic

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-24
Updated: 2005-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curled up around a sleeping Remus, Sirius tries to understand the place from which his contentment springs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moony-magic

Sirius doesn't understand contentment. He loves the feeling almost as much as he loves Moony (who's still sleeping beside him and making tiny whiffling noises as he breathes) but he doesn't understand it - where it comes from or how it's made or why it shows up without any invitation at all.

Maybe the secret is Moony, he thinks. Maybe this is one of Moony's special powers (like the ability to make him snort with laughter by raising one eyebrow) - the power to weave contentment out of things that Sirius doesn't notice and knit them together into a blanket to tuck around them both.

He means to fathom this Moony-magic, does Sirius. He wakes up on mornings like these and strange thoughts occur to him - like they're a painting, and someone's taken a brush to all his edges so that the places he's touching Moony are softened and blurred. He quickly pushes past the fact that he's comparing himself to a painting (because that seems a bit disquieting and girlish if he thinks about it) and lingers on the idea of touching. Maybe touching's the key. It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest to learn there's magic humming beneath the surface of Moony's skin.

He begins to catalog the places their bodies meet, as if he can understand happiness by making mental lists. His knees are pushed up behind Moony's knees, and he's curled against Moony's back. His body's barely touching the skin above the waistband of Moony's pajamas, but every time he breathes his belly pushes closer and that whisper of a touch makes him smile in secret little ways. His bare chest is flush with Moony's spine, and the arm he's thrown over Moony's side is tucked gently under the other boy's arm. His hand's splayed against Moony's belly, rising and falling with every one of Moony's breaths. If he concentrates very hard he can feel the tickle of tiny hairs beneath his palm, and the absent little dip that's Moony's belly-button (to which he's become terribly addicted).

Sirius' other arm is thrown over Moony's head, pressed against the headboard on one side, the other grazing Moony's hair. If Moony stirs (which he will, eventually) that hair will tease and pull along the sensitive skin along his inner arm and Sirius knows his toes will curl as a result (because they always do). He thinks about their toes, about the whole of their feet, because they're tangled and Sirius muses that it ought to feel uncomfortable, but it doesn't. Moony's foot is resting just above one of Sirius' ankles, held there by Sirius' other leg, and they've somehow managed to muddle up their limbs without anyone's bony ankle pushing into anyone's softer calf. He wonders if this is some miracle of sleepy satisfaction, or just the habit of two people who've learned how to share a very small bed.

There's the back of Moony's neck to consider, a sweep of pale skin directly in front of Sirius' nose. Moony's hairline tapers there, and Sirius blows very gently to watch each individual hair dance slightly in the breeze. He enjoys the way the hairs bend and quiver so much that he almost blows again, but then decides against it. He'd rather press his nose close to that well-loved skin and breathe in the Moony-scent that lives there, and sleep a little more. Except he hasn't found the source of his contentment, only charted all the places it's pooled, and some part of him is still intensely curious and wants to figure this out.

"You're thinking so loudly, it's a wonder you haven't woken the whole bloody school," Remus murmurs, and the sound vibrates through Sirius' hand, surprising him.

"M'not thinking," he whispers back. "Much."

Remus rolls over to face him, and their limbs have to get all rearranged, but they're good at this now so there's only a fraction of a second when Sirius feels like sulking. It's hard to maintain a sulk when Moony's looking at you, cheeks all flushed from sleep, and his hand's stealing around your back. "I could hear all the cogs and wheels turning," says Remus. "They squeak something criminal."

Sirius smiles just a little bit (he has to admit it's kind of funny) and he leans forward so that they can kiss. It's soft and sweet and their lips barely part because no matter how mad they are for each other, they still have morning breath. They've ruined too many moods in the past by recklessly thinking they could live without toothpaste.

Moony sighs contentedly, and tucks his head under Sirius' chin. "Want to talk about it?" he asks, but his voice is heavy and languid and it's clear he just wants to go back to sleep.

Sirius presses a kiss to the tousled mop of hair below his chin and thinks it over. "No," he says, finally. "It'll keep."

There's Moony-magic to absorb.


End file.
